


in faded holograms they speak

by artdeficient



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Angst, Dan Howell - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Japan, M/M, Phil Lester - Freeform, dan's just really in love, phil doesnt know how to deal with his feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-04-30 14:50:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5167886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artdeficient/pseuds/artdeficient
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>they’re in japan and nothing seems to make sense, so they hide in hotel rooms and pretend they can’t see what’s right in front of them, and it works, for a while. (badlands au based off of halsey's album)</p>
<p>extras: blurb written by multiversehowell from dan's pov: http://phansomniac.tumblr.com/post/134436911533/are-we-okay-im-never-sure-what-is-it-with-the</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i. in faded holograms they speak

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaaah here it is!! i have enjoyed writing this series so so much so far so i really hope you like it!!! as usual a HUGE thanks goes out to amy @adorablehowell for being my beta and leaving me encouraging msgs <333 this chapter is based off of ‘coming down’ as someone sent me a prompt requesting it, but honestly it incorporates lots of the songs together bc i couldn’t help it!!! and i kind of made it into a series oopS,, i reallly hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it, you’ll have to bear with me for chapter 2 because i have exams in the next three weeks but it won’t be too far away~~ feedback and msgs are appreciated!!!! <33

Phil whispers Dan’s name four times into his skin before he’s sighing, lifting himself up to slope off to the bathroom with cobalt dusting his spine. He leaves Dan alone, he leaves him alone and he’s tangled between white sheets in a last minute hotel room, his chest bare and his hair mussed. The TV flashes every so often with a crackle of polychromatic static, bleeding pinks, greys; dark smears of teal and tourmaline stain the backs of his eyelids when he blinks once, twice in succession and he isn’t sure if he’s shaking but he’s aware that coherency steels itself above his line of thought.  

The thing is, Dan feels drunk under all this. The imprint of Phil's lips burn his neck vermillion and he feels so fucking intoxicated, so _dizzy_  with something unfamiliar, so he drops his head to the sheets, the beginnings of softly shaped dark curls playing the part of a halo against his skin. Low tones of Japanese echo mindlessly within four walls and Dan thinks,  _what are we doing here?_ whilst knotting his fingers together in the hopes of understanding something, because his skin pricks with cold and city smoke drifts silently in through the open window on the other side of the room, the fluorescence from street signs outside only causing for further doubt and oscillation. He thinks,  _we can’t keep doing this we can’t keep pretending it isn’t happening it is happening_  until his mouth turns sour, but Dan convinces himself everything’s okay because they’re best friends; they always have been. Except his veins burn black and he’s choking on the weight of casual intimacy and colour coded speak, and Dan thinks that actually, he kind of wants to die from the way Phil seems to know everything Dan doesn’t, his posture calm, his colours clean.

He’s everything Dan’s ever known and he’s poison; he stains sentimental warmth into everything Dan touches and maybe he knows this but it doesn’t stop them both from pirouetting in the same circle, hands tied, expressions vague. Dan wants to scream, because the way his fingertips trace the marks on his neck tell him he’s in love but he’s too scared to understand that, so it’s better to just- not. It’s better to keep quiet, because they stand as a two piece, a collection for people to admire but please-do-not-touch, a pair stitched so close together it seems impossible to pull them apart, and Dan doesn’t want to destroy that.

Phil comes out of the bathroom, then, and his gaze catches onto the sight of Dan’s fingers tracing bruises of purple and red; it’s under reflections of inner city light that his breath hitches, and he’s smiling but the assurance doesn’t reach his eyes, stuck between bitten bruised lips and hesitance. No, Dan thinks, his eyes say _Is this it?;_  the declaration never really strays past them, and Dan knows why without uttering a word.

He’s a painting of soft pale skin and black boxer shorts, his joints moving in grace with the light as he moves to sit on the window seat. Dan follows his movements with dilated eyes. His mind curls with the idea that he’s holding Phil back, that he’s too intense, that he bleeds too bright and he burns too weak. And it’s loud; the city below them buzzes in motion and in vibrance and in kaleidoscopic energy, yet Dan looks at Phil and the silence stings his ears.

They’re lost, somewhere. He’s never thought about escapism much but what he and Phil have is a form of the sorts, a wavering line of something that doesn’t quite feel real, not until one of them makes it so. It curves into a sense of ambition, he supposes, because they’re pushing forwards and they’re exploring new depths in the form of miscommunicated, twisted pronunciations of love, but it’s not working out in the way something only meant to be fantastical wouldn’t fix itself in reality.

It’s when he sees his reflection in the condensated floor to ceiling window that Dan understands he is resigned to live in a dreamer’s state, and Phil is not.

-

3am brings sentiment in the form of tracing hands and the softest of kisses. It’s cold and Dan burns, his heart charred; he lets himself be swayed by the steady lines Phil carves into his arm with a wandering finger, his limbs pulled into Phil’s lap in the comfort of lingering proximity. He thinks with drowned vehemence of the fragility of their time, of the pockets they choose to invest their affection and sincerity into and with Phil’s touch following the veins on the underside of his wrist he’s thrown into the truth, one that tells him they’re acting on frozen hours. Because they choose to open up their souls in tarnished light and it’s not how he imagined they’d be, it’s not how it’s _supposed_  to be.

They’re travelling with no real direction or need for significance and so Dan stays on white sheets with his body and his mind curled around Phil, and silence grabs their throats, and it’s threatening, and it stays until the morning paints the backs of their eyelids. Because in the morning Dan has to lick Phil off his lips; he has to scrub his face and splash his cheeks with icy water until he’s awake enough to brush it off.

But the empty waves of time 3am suggests they’re fixated on each other, as the night strips away the harshness of shared reality; they’re allowed to express, they’re allowed to love and care and the problem is that Dan does love. He loves Phil. He loves Phil like he loves crystals of amber and late night takeaway and losing the concept of time, and Phil loves him, he’s aware of that, he knows that.

It’s just that neither of them know how to take hold of the situation and put meaning into their thoughts, neither of them know how to say _i love you_  out loud without crumbling away. They’re trying, and they love each other but Dan finds himself asking if it really means a thing when their body language is never laid bare by spoken word.

The night lets them enjoy existing so closely, and so they embrace it. Dan learns the curves of Phil’s shoulders and the dip of his collarbones, thumbs his fingers over Phil’s jaw, his touch leaving behind bruises of intimacy. He associates Phil’s tenderness with soft hues, paints Phil’s aura shades of cerulean and chipped ultramarine, his mind committing the colours to memory because he’s afraid of losing the affection in Phil’s gaze. Phil reminds him of the Oxford blue he painted his room when he’d just turned 13 years old, splattered flecks of green and grey mixed in a creation of disarray and of ease; of everything Dan remembers when his breathing restricts and his knuckles mark themselves white. He traces the curve of Phil’s spine, lips twitching at the way Phil tenses up and murmurs into the crook of his neck. They’re close, they’re so close and for a moment Dan convinces himself they’re part of each other, that if you pulled one of them from the other they’d find each other again out of instinct. He loves Phil and Phil loves him, so they pretend with comfort and they never let go, not really, not properly.

It’s too hard to think about how much longer they’ll be in Japan and away from everything when Phil’s pulling him impossibly closer and curling a hand into his waist, his fingers brushing delicately across the expanse of skin because he treats Dan carefully, like he’s a fucking  _prince_ , and the only way he knows how to reciprocate that is to sigh into Phil’s mouth, a smile blooming from his lips that makes Phil pull back and take him in properly.

“You’re beautiful.” Phil’s whispering, and Dan beams as he shakes his head, his hands running along Phil’s chest; they’re drunk, tonight. They don’t give a fuck and it drives Dan insane with the way his head spins and his heart aches and so he rushes to kiss Phil, fingers trapping Phil’s jaw in a protective grasp.

“You’re a fucking  _sap_.” Dan breathes in between kisses, twisting his body to settle himself fully on Phil’s lap. Even as he’s speaking Phil’s stare is directed to his lips; Dan licks them, slowly, and Phil wastes no time in pulling them together again. They give in to each other in haste, because it’s 3am and time holds nothing of consistency in the hours between. Phil murmurs sweet nothings into his skin, kisses him with tenderness and with love, with a kind of open affection that Dan knows to translate to _i want you_  and so he whispers a hoarse _please_ onto Phil’s jaw and lets Phil push him into the sheets, his breath catching.

Their love carries through to the morning in the way misshapen dreams drag their way through the night.

-

They check out of the hotel at 9:55, suitcases trailing behind them as they leave behind the warmth of fluorescent yellow lobbies and the cracked smiles of bellboys. Phil loads their things into the boot of a borrowed car, says nothing to a fatigued Dan in favour of efficiency. It’s cold, again, and Dan slumps into the passenger's seat with a coffee in hand that Phil had bought before they left, his head resting against the seat as he watches Phil stuff their belongings together and slide into the driver’s side. Osaka is lost behind them in a flurry of highways and the low assurance of Radiohead; Dan doesn’t ask Phil about the night before, just waits, directs his gaze so that he knows if Phil is choosing to ignore him. Luckily, the tired smile Phil tosses in his direction as they’re heading towards Kyoto seems enough to settle the fluttering insecurity in his stomach.

The highway stretches out in front of them in blocks of mottled grey and Dan really, really wants to hold Phil’s free hand but Phil’s got this expression on his face, this look which suggests that he’s miles away and whatever Dan says or does won’t really make a difference. He looks lost, almost, his brows furrowed in detachment and so Dan speaks up, his head lolled against the seat.

“You alright?” It’s soft, quiet. Phil has the chance to pretend he hasn’t heard with how timid the question is. And Dan has to wait a moment before Phil snaps out of his reverie, blinking rapidly as if to clear his vision; it makes Dan wonder whether Phil driving in this state is a good idea.

Phil moves his gaze slowly to Dan’s figure, nodding in silence. “Yeah. Yeah, i’m okay. I just feel a bit lethargic, you know?”

“Do you want me to drive?” Dan asks quickly, shifting to sit up. Phil just shakes his head, stretching a hand out to keep him in his seat.

“No, it’s fine. Just- can I have some of those raspberry M&Ms you got the other night?”

Dan rolls his eyes, rustles through the glove box to find the sweets. “Sure.”

When he leans back upwards Phil’s sat with his eyes on the road and his mouth open, waiting with a small smile that makes Dan groan. “You want me to  _feed_ them to you?  _God,_ Phil.”

Phil just laughs softly, and Dan places a few in his mouth, waiting for him to eat them before popping in a few more. It becomes a sort of contest of how far Dan can throw them and aim correctly, until Phil almost swerves on the highway and they’re both laughing as Phil scolds him for almost getting them killed. Everything is subdued, dark clouds and tower blocks above them blending together to create a harmonized portrait of late morning calm. The radio flashes red, blue, tainting colour into a stark landscape and Dan tastes raspberry chocolate on the edges of his tongue and knows he’s okay. They’re okay, they’re definite and they’re okay and Dan can breathe because Phil is distant but it isn’t because of him.

A half hour later they’ve arrived in Kyoto and Phil pulls over to figure out where their hotel is on Google maps; he kisses Dan softly on the knuckles a moment before they’re driving again, and Dan’s senses blur into hyperreality because it’s the first time in years Phil’s paid him affection in broad daylight.

He decides he’s never wanted someone quite so desperately as in that moment.

He’s yearning, aching; Dan looks at Phil and he sees red flags, he sees warning and risk and uncertainty and yet his vision automatically converts blazing red hazards into certitude and into assurance, adoration, admiration. Phil may scare him to death but he loves him, so he pushes aside his insecurities in favour of being naive and believing everything is how it should be. The days force him into this; they make him trust that everything is alright, that no matter how they choose to avoid the inevitable fragility of their situation things will turn out okay. It’s late night in a hotel room that whispers insinuations that they were fucked from the beginning, that they chose the wrong path and whichever way they choose to move on won’t make a difference, not in the end.

Vines twist around his ankles in warning but the thing is, Dan’s ignorant. He blocks everything out, curls into a warped construction of childish hope and he tells himself in adamance that he doesn’t care. Because- and that’s the thing- he holds onto the fact that he loves Phil, thinks that maybe, that’s enough.

-

“Do you know how much you make me feel?” Dan whispers that night, when they’ve fallen in love with Kyoto and Phil’s pressing him into stark sheets, staring down at him in complete endearment. Phil shakes his head, moves silently to kiss the corner of Dan’s lips.

“No.”

“Because you do. Like-” Dan’s words are cut off by a sharp intake of breath as Phil bites softly down on his neck, dotting kisses along pale skin and Dan tilts his head to allow Phil more space, fingers finding their way into Phil’s hair, pulling slightly, “I just- _fuck-_  I mean-”

Phil moves back up to Dan’s lips and captures them in a long kiss, moving their lips together until Dan’s breathing becomes jagged and he’s tugging at Phil’s hair, and Dan needs him to never stop doing that-

“It’s like- I never-”

“Dan,” Phil interrupts in a murmur, resting their foreheads together, and he’s staring again, so intensely Dan feels pinpricks in his chest, “You don’t need to use words. I get it.”

“Oh.” Dan says, and then he’s tracing the curve of Phil’s waist with quiet fingers, a small smile on his lips as he reaches up to brush Phil’s hair away from his eyes. "Okay."

There's a few seconds of silence where they simply stare at each other, memorising tiny freckles and curves of lips and bright eyes before Phil leans in again, presses their lips together softly. Dan curls a hand around Phil’s neck, smiling slightly at the way Phil seems to hesitate, but waits patiently for Phil to continue, letting his lashes flutter against his cheeks as Phil repeats his actions, slowly, carefully.

Phil’s fingers move down to Dan’s waist after a few moments, as soft kisses become more heated and their lips are moving faster together, almost desperate. Dan's hands are wandering, tightening in the sheets a little as Phil moves to his neck and he gasps at the little marks Phil leaves behind, pulling him closer and kissing him fully. He’s getting a little lost in Phil and it’s making him dizzy but he doesn’t stop, deepening the kisses until Phil’s almost moaning from on top of him, and they're drunk on city air and fragility and intertwined hands, and it’s a beautiful mess.

Phil slows down a minute later, letting his lips brush Dan’s with an intimacy Dan's never heard of, before resting against him, fingers travelling over Dan's skin.

"Can we- not go any further? I just like it like this." Phil mumbles, cheeks hot, and Dan lets out a breath, smiling slightly and nudging his nose against Phil’s jawline.

"Of course." he whispers, and he's stroking Phil’s hair, tangling locks in his fingers. Slopes of neon light illuminate the strands, painting blues and purples onto the pads of his fingers. He sighs.

“Do you want to talk?” Phil asks quietly, staring up at the ceiling.

Dan smiles, a warped grimace which speaks volumes. He would really rather not.

-

The only thing he notices is that his hands shake. Numb finds itself into his skin, biting spots of harsh cold within his splayed palms and so he reaches out blindly for where he knows he’ll find comfort. Trembling fingers curl over the blades in Phil’s shoulders as he pulls Phil towards him, forces them to face each other because Dan’s had a nightmare, again. He’s breathing too fast and his body seems wired on a staccato adrenaline that terrifies him, so he mumbles into the crook of Phil’s neck with a cracked voice, immense relief washing over him as Phil takes him into a mindless hug without a word.

It’s times like these where Phil will take hold of his role as his best friend; all advances of romance are thrown out the window in place of comfort and safety and all Dan’s ever known. Phil knows he needs only warm physical affection and a steady, soft voice and so he complies, his low words rumbling into the inches of air between them as he rubs Dan’s arms, slowly, carefully. He stays close, keeps his voice gentle, and Dan loves him for that.

-

The morning is cold, leaving them both curled into each other and fighting over the duvet, because their legs are too long to fit underneath it and Dan grips it so tight that Phil’s left shivering, kneecaps and fingers pressing into Dan's body as a source of warmth. Dan doesn't seem to mind, though, after expressing initial irritation at how cold Phil is; his torso shifts closer to Phil, and he's nosing Phil’s neck, breath hot. Phil seems to let out a murmur of content, which Dan hardly processes before drifting off again, a small smile tickling Phil’s skin.

Their days start like this on more than occasion. Now that they’re in Japan they’re free to spend hours on end nestled together with no intent to move; it’s as if in this state they’re on empty time, a constant flow of hollow hours which curve together to make the memories Dan savours. They don’t know where they’re going or what future they have outside of the hotel room, so they stay together and enjoy the soft comfort of warmth, of smooth skin and dimpled smiles. London was tearing them apart, twisting their efforts into two faced lies that would settle between them until one of them snapped. It wasn’t right- it wasn’t working, and so they caught a last minute flight to Tokyo and went from there. Their time here is makeshift but it’s working, and Dan couldn’t be any more consoled.

At 1:13pm, Phil suggests they go out to find lunch.

He guides Dan by the hand, weaving through the bustling Nishiki market, with frequent stops to marvel at perfectly arranged  _yatsuhashi_  and buy a couple of a stall’s self proclaimed  _‘best okonomiyaki’._  Dan avoids the marinated Octopus despite Phil’s protests; he has a rich appreciation and respect for Japanese street food culture, but suction cups on curled tentacles don’t do much to please his appetite.

The market thrives in the early afternoon breeze, its narrow alley glowing with splashes of colour in the form of vibrant packaging and stalls of intricately displayed  _tsukemono,_  which Dan finds hard to resist buying simply from the presentation. He’s hit with a dozen different scents and tastes, his mouth almost watering with sensory overload; he finds that if Phil doesn’t pull him away soon he’ll end up buying out the entire place, and his budget doesn’t stretch much further than the few  _okonomiyaki_  they’d shared. It’s calm, though, and he revels in the affection he’s suddenly been recipient of over the past few days. Phil guides him through the market with a hand on the small of his waist, his fingers pressing into Dan’s skin as he manoeuvres them through the passageway under the gazes of curious locals. The only drawback of the experience is the fact that they’re both a little too tall for the scene, and Dan cringes slightly at the impracticality of his height; he almost towers above everybody else in the alleyway, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

The end of the market leads them into narrow streets embellished with networks of telephone cables and bright signs marked with _kanji._  It’s beautiful in the simplest way- and Dan’s finding that a lot with Japan, because he loves the atmosphere and the vividity of culture, especially in Kyoto. Part of him wants to ask Phil if they can stay a few nights longer, but when he blinks to clear his thoughts Phil’s already asking him something. Dan only catches the questioning gaze following Phil’s words; he’s relieved to see Phil laugh when he says so, eyes bright, lips quirked.

“I said, do you want to go to the manga museum? I asked the old man at the wata kashi stall and he said it’s only a fifteen minute walk.”

The mention of manga perks Dan’s enthusiasm again much to Phil’s delight and he nods, beaming at the suggestion. “There’s a manga  _museum_?”

“Of course there is,” Phil says, “It’s Japan.”

Dan can’t say much to contradict that.

-

Phil quietens halfway through the afternoon. His hands drop to his sides, limp and frigid. His features flatten out, sculpting his posture an alarming vision of weariness. And affection clamps its teeth onto the past, and it doesn’t let go.

-

After dinner at a restaurant in  _Kiyamachi Dori_  they slope back to the hotel, fatigue weighing at their shoulders. It’s when Dan notices that Phil is acting distant. He’s almost scared to say anything in case Phil snaps at him, carves him into frustration with dreaded words. Dan’s quiet as Phil unlocks the door, bites his lips raw as they both shuffle into the room under crammed silence; he doesn’t dare look Phil in the eye, mostly for the reason that he knows he won’t like what he sees. Phil sits on the edge of the two beds they had pushed together, his expression impossibly vague, shoulders tensed, hands shaking ever so slightly. It makes Dan want to reach out to him, to ask him if he’s okay but he can’t because he knows he’d get pushed away, he knows Phil would just up and leave him in the middle of Kyoto for hours, and he doesn’t want to have to deal with that. He’s terrified Phil will leave him, so he stays quiet and curls up on an armchair on the other side of the room.

Three hours later, Dan is lifted up from where he was slumped into the armchair, his limbs draped around Phil’s shoulders as Phil carries him to the bed. Silence tortures every movement, and Dan thinks in a glazed over state that maybe it just isn’t going to  _fucking_  work out, because they’ve tried almost  _everything_. They’ve tried so hard, yet they’re still plagued with insecurity and doubt in echoes of cold fingers and red marks and bitten lips and Dan is tired, and so is Phil. Because Phil had told him once about letting something go when it doesn’t set right, and it’s with a cold resignation that he wonders if maybe the same applies to them.

Dan’s not sure what to say.

Rain clatters at the windows across from them, and Phil seems to blend into a backdrop of grey as he lowers Dan onto the sheets and shrugs off his jeans, moving to wrap his arms around Dan’s waist in a tight grip. They lay in rivers of monochrome and distant police sirens, their bodies twined together with a stubborn need for affection and assurance; Phil’s fingers trail drowsy circles and lopsided zigzags along the skin of his hips, and Dan wants to force himself to believe they’re okay, because he loves Phil. He very nearly says it.

“Do you want to go home?” Phil asks suddenly, the pads of his fingers pressing slightly into Dan’s skin and it makes his breath hitch, a little, because  _home_  as Phil says it is a warm declaration, a picture of comfort and familiarity and it should be soothing. The words hold no safety in their implication, though.  Dan might like to hold his breath but it changes nothing, in the end.

“Not particularly.” Dan mutters, and he means it. The overwhelming darkness of their hotel room does nothing to diminish the disfigurement of his voice. To Phil he must sound obnoxious, bitter, but from the way Phil curls into him with more insistence he isn’t sure whether Phil has caught on to his tone. Either that, Dan wonders, or it’s some kind of apology. In all brutality he’s too tired to care which rings true.

“Shall we stay in Japan forever then? Buy an apartment with two cats and a view over the city?” Phil’s breath is hot on his neck, his tone low and laced with subdued amusement. Dan curls his fingers further into the sheets.

“Maybe. Have you forgotten you’re allergic to cats?”

“A dog, then,” Phil decides, expression collapsing into a smile when Dan turns to face him, their faces inches apart. “We’d get a dog and it could come with us on our morning walk to find coffee and we’d sit in the park together and hold hands, and you’d feed the pigeons scraps of your bagel and everything would be okay.”

Dan licks his lips, and in the absence of a reply he simply smiles, expression never wavering from where it’s fixed on Phil’s face. His throat cracks with the effort of swallowing. He has nowhere else to look but at Phil, so he stares and finds nothing but his own love reflected back at him, mellow under the delicacy of borrowed time.


	2. ii. with the discolouration of intimacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> phil fucks things up a lot more than he intended // based on halsey's 'strange love' and 'young god'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooPS sorry for taking so long to update, i had exams but here it is i hope you like it!! it’s in phil’s pov and its angsty af im sorry <3 thanks again to amy @adorablehowell for beta’ing for me i love u <333 hope you like!!! feedback and msgs are always appreciated, thank you for all the kind msgs from the first chapter!!!

One look out of the fogged up balcony windows is all that tempts Phil to curl up beside Dan’s warm figure, the TV a weak flicker in the background. It’s a bruised afternoon of dark grey and dismal shadows, bleak and unimportant, and they’re still in Japan, and they still haven’t made any progress.

Dan seems more affectionate than ever these past few days, though, his hands slipping around Phil’s waist from behind when he least expects it, his lips pressing softly at the shell of Phil’s ear when it’s dark and sound evanesces only from the shared space between them. He holds Phil like he’s scared Phil will leave him behind, and it’s the most puzzling thing Phil has ever considered because he can’t think of anything further from truth. Dan regards him with red bitten lips and messy hair and dark, dilated eyes and he struggles to catch his breath; he isn’t sure of anything consistent but Dan is  _beautiful_ , his cheeks dusted a soft rose, and Phil is aching to kiss him.

They sit watching TV with their hands intertwined. Phil can feel Dan becoming more restless as muted grey sinks further into their hotel room but he stays silent, gaze fixed on the screen with his bottom lip between his teeth. In his pretence of pretending to be enthralled by a subpar drama his stomach is twisting into knots and his mind into strangled restraint because Dan is  _so close_  and he smells of cinnamon and warmth; Phil’s cheeks heat a little from the effort he’s putting into pretending Dan doesn’t exist. He blinks spots of grey from his lashes when Dan breaks their hand holding to smooth his palm along Phil’s thigh in a move that takes on an impression of being casual but  _really isn’t_ , and his breathing quickens in a way he hates.

Dan has him wrapped around his little finger; Phil wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if he knew it himself.

Phil sighs, soft and slightly breathless. Dan’s hand is moving in circles on his thigh, the pads of his fingers dancing in colours of intimacy as he applies more pressure to his movements, sneaks further upwards; Phil’s breath catches in his throat and his mind almost glazes over with the exertion it takes to resist. His peripheral vision allows him a glimpse of Dan’s body angled towards his own, his thigh pressed into Phil’s right side, and as Dan’s hand moves his lips form a silent gasp of approval. Phil’s on the verge of dizziness. It doesn’t help that the small noises he makes only seem to encourage Dan further.

Dan leans over to whisper into the curve of his ear and his hands curl into the sheets. He says, _‘is this okay?’_  and Phil’s eyes flutter a little as he assents, because Dan has him wrapped up in his palms and he can’t do anything about it. He doesn’t have to wait a second before Dan’s lips are on his neck, sucking and biting bruises of violet into pale skin until he’s shivering and his fists are bunched up in the sheets, his neck arched to allow Dan more space to work with. Dan shifts, wrapping his arms around Phil’s neck as he settles in Phil’s lap and leans in again, and Phil’s mind goes cloudy because Dan’s smiling into his skin, his thumbs moving to brush the edges of Phil’s cheeks as he kisses the tip of his nose. It’s blatantly obvious that Phil’s avoiding his gaze despite the smile he’s wearing, staring instead at the curve of Dan’s collarbones from where they’re protruding in a sharp line underneath his t shirt; Dan knows it, too. He leans into Dan’s shoulder slightly and he can feel the slight apprehension Dan adopts suddenly, eyes trained on Phil as he pulls back and holds Phil at arm’s length, questioning.

“Are you alright?”  Dan cups his cheeks, runs his fingers along the ridge of Phil’s jawline to get Phil to look at him; It’s when their gazes lock, unwavering for a strained moment, that Phil gives in.

A soft laugh escapes Dan’s lips as he’s pushed back onto the bed, his smile growing as Phil pins his down and kisses him fervently; he’s a vision of tenderness and of sleepy colour on a dull afternoon, his eyes brilliant with sparked amusement and Phil thinks with a certainty he can’t hide that he has never loved anyone so beautiful. Dan looks up at him with swollen lips and dark eyes and he knows without thought that he is in love with this boy, this boy who gives him everything and expects nothing in return.

Time blends into nothing as Dan’s hands move to slip under the hem of his shirt, cold palms roaming across the expanse of Phil’s chest in a way that makes him shiver. He’s insistent, his body pressing into Phil’s shamelessly as their hips meet and their lips crash together; Dan leaves crescent shaped marks between Phil’s shoulder blades as Phil cups his jaw, makes their kisses long and slow and full because he wants Dan to feel how much he loves him. Silence bleeds between the short gasps and murmurs they share; Dan’s fingers hook onto the fabric of Phil’s shirt and tug it off, and he isn’t satisfied until they’re tangled together on the duvet, clothes abandoned along with the TV remote on the floor beside them.

“Are you sure,” Dan’s panting, his eyes glazed with lust as he pulls back for a second to look at Phil, “Are you sure you want to-”

_“Yes,”_  Phil breathes, closing the distance to scatter a line of hard kisses along Dan’s neck; Dan swears under his breath in response, fingers tightening in their grip on Phil’s shoulders.

They move together, Dan’s thigh pressed between Phil’s legs, and Phil can’t help himself.

“You look so gorgeous like this.” He marvels, eyes wide and travelling in fascination over the view in front of him, of Dan spread beneath him, chest rising and falling with cracked breaths.

“Yeah?” Dan smirks, staring back up at him, and Phil thinks he _revels_  in this.

“Yeah.” Phil rolls their hips together in response, a fluid motion which sends Dan shivering, his mouth curving in an “o” in a silent moan. Uncoordinated kisses are left on Dan’s jaw, swollen contusions of purple blooming on the side of his neck and they’re both swimming in each other, Phil relishing in how pliant and desperate Dan proves to be.

“Not too bad yourself.” Dan manages, flushing when Phil dips down to kiss the inside of his thigh, biting soft into the pale expanse of skin. He hears Dan whine at the feeling, his fingers finding their way into Phil’s hair and pulling at the strands as Phil licks over the skin and blows softly, and with another set of kisses on his thighs Dan gives up holding back any noise, letting needy moans escape his lips as Phil works his mouth. Phil’s eyes flicker upwards and Dan’s writhing, hands locked in Phil’s hair as he savours the touch, his pupils blown out and black with want, his lips red and swollen.

“ _Shit_ , Dan,” Phil says, and Dan just moans again, an incoherent mess of slurred words which Phil takes to mean  _hurry up for fucks sake_ and so he does, his hands gripping Dan’s hipbones as he guides them together. Dan’s back is arched upwards in a delicate curve as Phil presses into him and he’s breathless in the heated kisses Phil gives him, his cracked moans littering the edges of Phil’s lips. Dan is worked up, his heartbeat spiked with adrenaline and lust and love and so he says something which Phil wishes he’d never said. It’s right as Phil’s hands are tracing his hipbones, mouths together in a flurry of unguarded open mouthed kisses when Dan says it, and it breaks all forms of inhibition.

“I fucking _love_  you.” Dan’s gasping out, and it’s terrifying and it sends Phil into shock, silence shattering his movements in an instant.

“What?” It’s whispered, disbelieving. Dan freezes.

“I mean- I didn’t mean to say it like that,  _shit_ , I mean-” He’s fumbling for something, his fingers slipping from Phil’s neck as Phil pulls back and suddenly everything is too cold; suddenly Phil feels sick, his stomach uneasy with agitation.

“It doesn’t matter,” Phil says, pulling away completely and reaching for his shirt; “It doesn’t matter.”  He isn’t sure why he says it a second time but from within his peripheral vision Dan seems to crumble, his figure sloped hopelessly against the sheets in a toxic contrast. Phil carries himself away from Dan and into the bathroom, and he doesn’t understand why his response is to react like this but something in Dan’s words struck blind fear into him, and he can’t shake it off.

“Phil?” Dan’s voice curls under the crack of the doorframe; Phil winces at the way it cracks, hears Dan clear his throat. “Phil. Come back.”

He leaves Dan alone for the second time in a week and he hates himself for it.

-

Phil goes to sleep that night as far away from Dan as he can get in the cramped space of their double bed. He’s exhausted, balling his hands into the sheets to stop them shaking and he can hear Dan’s murmurs on the other side of the bed from where he’s stuck in a nightmare but Phil doesn’t have the courage to do anything about it.

It’s not until Dan’s mumblings glaze back over into peaceful sleep that Phil is able to close his eyes.

-

The dusty glow of morning that Phil blinks out of his eyelids 6 hours later brings ignorance, and for a long moment he’s able to lay in the surrounding warmth in peace, his arms tightening around something soft and welcoming. He’s quickly brought out of that reality, though, as he realises the soft figure is Dan, and they’re tangled together completely, much to Phil’s confusion. He tries not to think about his tendencies to gravitate towards Dan in his unconsciousness and stays very still, keeping his breaths even so as not to wake the sleeping figure curled into his side.

Dan shifts after a few moments, his hair flecked with highlights of gold from the early morning sun filtering in; he yawns, subconsciously cuddling further into Phil’s embrace in his sleepy state and Phil tries his hardest not to stiffen at the movement because the sun has barely risen and he wants anything but to have to see Dan’s features crumple again. It’s  _hard_ , it’s so hard to not love Dan when he’s wrapped into the covers with an unguarded smile, hair messy and curled at the ends. It’s too much effort for this time of the morning, so Phil lets his arms tighten and pull Dan further into his chest, pressing a soft kiss to the nape of Dan’s neck. And Phil stops himself from watching the smile of relief that blooms from Dan’s lips in response, closing his eyes in the hope that Dan will take his silent apology without any argument.

“I’m sorry.” Dan whispers, then. It’s soft, quiet; Phil’s almost inclined to believe it’s cautious, as if he knows Phil feels like he’s treading on eggshells with everything they’ve gotten themselves into.

“What are you sorry for?”

His lips brush the skin of Dan’s neck when he says it, and he feels Dan shiver in response.

“I didn’t mean it. Last night.” Dan mumbles. It sounds a lot like a personal assurance in the way he says it, his eyes trained on the spirals of dust that linger in the light. And it comes as a shock, because Phil’s almost always based his lack of acceptance on the fact that he _knows_ Dan loves him, and he  _knows_  Dan would never leave him but now he’s hearing something hollow, something weak and nothing like he expects and he half wonders whether it’s Dan’s plan to scare him. He’s left in a half second debate of wondering whether Dan’s just saying it to bring him closer out of fear, or whether he actually means it. Phil’s not quite sure which is worse.

“Oh,” Phil says, then catches himself; “It’s alright. It’s fine, yeah? It doesn’t matter.”

Dan just sighs, twisting around to face Phil. They stare at each other for a long moment as Phil tries to decode the unreadable expression on Dan’s face, and it’s too quiet in the muted light that bathes the room, too tense.

“Are we okay?” Dan asks, biting his bottom lip absentmindedly. He looks so vulnerable, so shaken with something unnerving and Phil wants to hold him and promise him everything, despite how much he can’t.

“Yeah, of course,” he says, lips curving into a smile that feels foreign. “We’re okay.”

Dan just smiles, his eyes lighting up ever so slightly, but it’s not hard to notice the unmistakable doubt that clouds his expression even so.

-

The cafe they’re in has condensated windows and smells too strongly of coffee, and Phil’s not sure if Dan has really woken up since he went to sleep last night.

Phil had ordered them both the coffees they always have, and he had sat Dan down at a table near the back of the cafe in the hopes that coffee would clear the clouded glaze that seemed to smother Dan’s expression. Fifteen minutes later though, and he’s still waiting for anything other than the commitment Dan has to chewing his lips.

They suffer through an awkward silence, where Phil places a hand over Dan’s only for Dan to shake it off and clasp his cup instead, gentle but insistent. It’s when Phil knows he’s done something wrong, except he can’t find what he needs to  _stop_. Perhaps that’s why he diverts his attention to the waiter, a man with a mess of curly blond hair and a permanent flustered smile who rubs his hands on his apron too often and dances around his coworkers with an air of hectic energy that Phil likes. He doesn’t notice Dan sinking further into his seat.

Phil catches the waiter’s eye more than a few times, mostly for the fact that he’s staring and he can’t quite take his eyes off the man, but he doesn’t seem to mind; Phil watches him duck his head to whisper something to a coworker, sees the black haired woman nod, smile ever so slightly. The waiter laughs, and then he’s heading to their table, his hands slipping into his apron pocket to grasp a notebook and pen.

“Hi! Welcome to Cafe Maru. Would you like anything to eat today, Sirs?” The waiter’s voice- Phil notices his name is Nick from a crooked name tag on his chest- is smooth and well rehearsed, yet Phil can’t help but pick up the way Nick seems to ignore Dan completely, his attention solely on Phil.

Dan scoffs, looks away.

Phil smiles. “No thank you, we’re good with just drinks for now.” He’s almost tempted to order something just for an excuse to spend a little longer talking to the man. Nick offers him a grin and nods, promptly.

“Sure! Let me know if you need anything.” Nick says, keeping eye contact for a little longer than necessary. He’s got the kind of expression that smiles without the aid of his lips, and it intrigues Phil more than it should. Nick casts a cursory glance over at Dan with a quirked brow before he goes to turn away and head back to the counter, but Phil’s not finished.

“Hey- Sorry for keeping you. I just- I noticed you have an English accent? It’s just that I haven’t seen many people here who aren’t tourists or from Japan.” He’s stumbling, and it makes Dan scowl but Nick’s expression lights up and he relaxes slightly, his hands sliding the notebook and pen back into his pocket.

“Oh! Yeah, I’m from Bristol actually. I moved here a few years ago to start as a personal trainer but it never worked out. Are you visiting?” Nick asks, genuinely curious.

Phil nods. “Yeah, I- we are. Why personal training, though? Surely you could’ve done that back home?”

“Yeah, I could’ve,” Nick replies, licking his lips. “But, you know, I loved Japan as a teenager, and I was getting sick of things back home and so I thought  _why not?_  I don’t regret it at all, even though I’m part time barista now.”

Phil laughs, his gaze following Nick’s movements. “No, I get it. I’ve always wanted to live in Japan, it’s so beautiful here. Right, Dan?”

He tears his focus on Nick to look over at Dan, who still seems to sit with a sour expression, his hands propping up his chin.

“Hm?” Dan murmurs, disinterested. “Yeah, sure.”

Phil spends a moment watching Dan trace the wooden grooves of the table with a finger before he decides he wants something more than this, wants to shake Dan by the shoulders to make him say something, commit to something with effort and not the resigned backseat he takes every time things get too much. Phil wants him to _react,_  and so he turns his head back to Nick and grins.

“Anyway,” Phil begins, nibbling on the edge of his bottom lip; “It was so nice to meet you! Maybe if I come back to Nara sometime I could give you a call?”

“Of course!” Nick says, grabbing his notebook and ripping out a page to jot something down. “I’ll give you my mobile number and my email, if you want to message me when you’re back in England. Feel free to ask me if you ever want to know more about the place, though! I know I would’ve loved to have known someone English when I first moved here.”

He scribbles down the information with a slanted hand, pen lid caught between his teeth, before handing it to Phil with a smile. Phil tucks the paper into his pocket after folding it once.

“Thanks! I’ll see you around.” Phil grins at the man and waves as he turns back to the counter, sighing into a slumped position in his seat. He doesn’t miss the glare Dan throws at him in response, simply chooses to ignore it.

“Well,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee. “He was nice.”

Dan coughs, studies the floor. “I bet.”

-

As soon as they’re back inside the safety of a hotel room Dan starts talking.

“What was that about?” Dan asks, confrontational. He walks forward a little as Phil takes a few steps back, bracing for the reaction he  _wanted_ , at first.  Except, Dan looks more than a little broken and Phil’s not sure what the hell he’s doing or why he keeps doing it, only that he isn’t sure how to stop it. He wishes there was a way he could just love Dan simply; he reminds himself that he  _can_ , that he’s too scared to commit to anything proper and it’s a sudden rush of realisation that makes his chest fill with self hatred. That, consequently, he projects onto Dan without meaning to.

“What?”

“You were practically chatting that guy up in front of my face!” Dan exclaims, his eyes disbelieving. Phil’s letting him down.

“Am I not allowed to talk to other people? Is that it?”

“There’s talking to people and then there’s doing whatever  _that_ was, Phil. Anyone can tell the difference.”

“He was nice!” Phil contends, though he already knows he’s digging himself a hole; “I was just interested to see what another English guy was doing in Japan, you’re blowing this way out of proportion-”

Dan laughs, and it’s brittle, hard edged. “Right. you seemed  _very_  interested- God, Phil, it was  _embarrassing_.”

“So what if I was? It’s not like we’re exclusive or anything, is it?”

_Shit_. He wasn’t supposed to say that- He didn’t  _mean_  that, but his mouth seems to work before logical thought and he’s twisting himself into something ugly and tremulous, something which he can’t quite get ahold of.

Dan falters; freezes in his stance. “Sorry? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“You thought this was-” Phil gestures between them; “You thought it was-”

“Of course I fucking did, Phil.” He sounds broken, then, his frame slumped over, and he stares at Phil like he’s suddenly lost all trust in him. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m in l-”

“Don’t,” Phil says immediately, eyes flashing with fear. “Don’t say that.” He can’t deal with that. And he knows Dan hates him for it but he just- he just can’t.

“What do you expect me to say?”

“I don’t know”, Phil says, “I don’t know. But not that.”

“Right.” Dan says again, and he’s wavering, gaze darting from Phil to the ceiling and back again. He lets out a muffled noise that comes out almost like a sob, and then he’s turning around, silence heavy before he slams the door behind him. Phil lets him leave, because he’s scared, because he knows he’s done wrong and he doesn’t know how to stop it from crumbling further.

The noise echoes in Phil’s ears for the next five minutes.

-

_dan. where are you._

_MESSAGE SENT._

_come back to the room. i’m sorry._

_MESSAGE SENT._

_please._

_MESSAGE SENT._

_5 missed calls. would you like to leave a voice message?_

-

Phil’s sat on the edge of the bed with his head bowed when Dan comes back an hour later, almost jumps out of his skin when Dan slams the door shut and strides over to him, dragging him by the shoulders to stand up.

“I hate you.” Dan whispers, his voice tinged with a dark venom that almost scares Phil to death but it doesn’t, somehow. He backs Phil up against the wall on the far side of the room, stares at him for a long moment. Phil stares back at the dark charcoal of his lashes that compliment the freckles dotting his flushed cheeks, licks his lips at Dan’s glare and he doesn’t have time to say a word before Dan’s hands grip tight again, his breath tickling Phil’s ear. “ _God_ , I hate you so much.”

Phil knows he’s made a mistake. He knows it when Dan’s fingers dig into his shoulder blades with a grip too sharp, knows it when Dan looks at him desperately, like he wants Phil to realise something. The slanted light from outside paints thin streaks along Dan’s face, separates it into neat lines of shadow and in the silence that follows Phil feels an urge to reach a hand out to trace them. The unwavering look of hatred Dan fixes on him, though, strips Phil of his courage, leaves him bare and unable to move, his chest rising and falling with breaths too fast, too eager because he knows he’s lost Dan’s trust. He’s scared and Dan is beautiful, a silhouette stained with vexation and distress; it’s when Phil realises he has never felt as he does right now. Fear and confusion and madness and lust curl into the shadows around them, tangle into every inch of his peripheral thought and vision and Phil is blinded as he realises that Dan isn’t going to let him go. The relief Phil feels tells him he knows he never wants Dan to, not anymore.

Dan’s gaze burns into his skin for a second longer before he’s leaning in, their breaths twining together as Dan catches their lips, waits. He pushes Phil back as soon as Phil murmurs his assent, pinning him against the wall and kissing him hard, his hand coming to rest on Phil’s cheek. Soft fingers brush his hair back as Phil moves to wrap his arms around Dan’s neck, and Dan kisses him long and slow like he does whenever he’s terrified Phil will leave him. Except, Phil knows now that he never would; he could never even try.

“I’m sorry, I’m _sorry-_.” Phil’s murmuring and it’s dark, it’s so dark that Phil can barely begin to care about anything outside of Dan. He responds immediately as Dan deepens their kisses, turning them around until he has Dan against the wall and he can see him in the light. Phil’s hands slip to Dan’s waist; he pulls back to breathe and Dan looks at him with dark eyes in the way that usually makes him uneasy, but it seems different, now. And it’s not until he brings a hand up to cup his face that he realises Dan’s cheeks are wet, silent tears running down in thick rivulets which squeeze the air out of Phil’s lungs within a single second.

“Dan?” He’s asking, panicked, nervous, because Dan’s  _crying_ and it scares him to death. “Dan, what’s wrong? Hey,  _hey-_ ”

Phil catches him as Dan suddenly slumps onto his chest, hands winding around Phil’s waist in a death grip. Phil stands there for a second, wavering in the middle of the room with Dan collapsed into him, before he has the sense to bring them both over to the bed and sit them down; Dan clings to him, and Phil can sense from the cracked sobs he’s emitting into Phil’s shoulder that he’s as exhausted as Phil feels.

Phil just lets him cry, rubbing reassurance up and down the planes of Dan’s back and tries not to let the way Dan’s crying so brokenly affect him, tries not to let the pain in his chest blossom into nausea and focuses on trying to calm Dan’s breathing. He holds Dan tight, tight enough to let him know he’s safe, and the guilt fucking  _overcomes_  him at the realisation of what he’s put the defeated boy holding onto him through; it carves itself into the corners of Phil’s mind, scrapes its way into every inch of Phil’s conscience and all he can think about is how fatally in love he is.

The dark helps, somehow. Phil keeps Dan close as he pulls back to smudge overgrown tears with the pad of his thumb, strokes Dan’s cheeks before pulling him back into his chest and kissing Dan’s forehead, whispering a soft mantra of  _“Shh, I’m here, I’m here.”_

And Phil knows he’s going to try. The morning might bring back fear and irrationality and his tendency to avoid brutally honest emotion but he’s going to try, because he’s not sure if he can stand seeing Dan in this state. He hopes with crossed fingers and a stuttering heart that  _once is enough_  and  _never again_  will aid heavily enough on making sure this doesn’t happen again. Because Dan is shattered in his grip, his eyes red rimmed and his lips bitten and his hair messed up from the way he’s been stressing his hands through it for the past few hours, and Phil never wants a repeat of it.

Dan calms somewhat after a while, making himself comfortable as Phil moves them both to lay down under the sheets; he mumbles a soft, disjointed  _don’t leave me don’t leave me_  with his arms wrapped firmly around Phil’s, a personal assurance as he falls into a distressful sleep. And at 2:23am, Phil stares at the ceiling and blocks out the distant echo of late night traffic with the sudden understanding that breaking Dan’s heart is the worst thing he has ever done.


	3. iii. and in the shadows of their dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dan's pov; based off halsey's song 'drive' and dodie's 'sick of losing soulmates'  
> warnings for swearing, alcohol, mentions of sex etc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is longer than i expected it to be and i spent so long writing it that i thought my eyes were going to fall ouT but i hope you like it, messages and feedback is always appreciated <3 also, thank you for all the support for the series!!! it seriously makes me so happy that people are enjoying it and i really hope you enjoy this chapter as well <33 as always a massive thank yuo to @adorablehowell for betaing amy you are the BEST <333

 

_It still baffles me that caring too much about someone drives that person away. What, is it because you’re scared of being responsible? You can’t reciprocate? You’re afraid of not being able to do the same? Because if that’s the case then I don’t want this kind of modern idealization of love if it means I’d have to hide how I feel about someone all the time just to keep things interesting._

_— Keen Malasarte, tired of this bullshit convention._  
  
---  
  
__

Dan isn’t quite sure how to move forward when he only knows how to make things better with the lights turned off. With Phil’s insistence on apology, on fixing whatever piece of Dan he’d broken that night in Nara a few days before, Dan had really tried to just put it behind him and move on, but he finds that things have a habit of not working like that. Because no matter how many times Phil tries to make it up to him, he’s still going to stare at nothing in the early hours of the morning and convince himself Phil doesn’t love him; not like he loves Phil. It’s become self deprecating and sort of magnified in the way that he believes it, but when Phil can only look at him, can only touch him when it’s dark and all pretence is lost, it flourishes and sticks to his mind, and Dan is lost.

It’s 3:00pm on a Sunday and Dan thinks about where they’ll be in five years time as he stares down at the blurred lines of a city beneath him, distorted by condensation. He shuffles in his cross legged position by the window, looks back to where Phil’s sprawled on the bed with his glasses perched on his nose and his mind lost in a book and wonders why they’re even here anymore if all they’re going to do is drive through Japan’s mainland and hide in hotel rooms. He doesn’t really see much point, except the fact that they’re both too scared to go home in fear of the consequences.

Dan’s in love, and his heart is broken and he doesn’t even try to pretend everything’s okay but he knows Phil’s as lost as he is, so he lets things happen as they are. His attempts at being angry at Phil for still kissing him, for still whispering into his skin and tracing the curves of his body when nothing else matters are drowned despite how hard he tries to contain them, because he wants so badly to be angry and to yell and shout for how much _fucking_ pain he’s going through but he can’t without reducing himself to tears and pulling Phil closer.

And when Phil tells him, _‘i’m not used to this, dan’_ , _‘i don’t know how to be loved like this’,_ Dan doesn’t have the energy to say anything stronger than _‘i’m sorry.’_

-

Sometimes, it gets better.  

-

They’re driving down the highway in the middle of the night and Phil’s laughing, throwing his head back with a smile that stains in Dan’s memory, tastes sweet on his lips. It’s at times like these that they’re on top of the fucking world, because the freedom that stretches out in front of them carves them both into invincibility, pumps them full of adrenaline and passion and everything strong enough to blind the fact that Dan locked himself in the toilet for two hours the morning before. Somehow, it becomes enough.

Phil’s saying something that Dan only just catches, latching onto the words seconds after they roll off of Phil’s tongue. He must look so deliriously infatuated, like he’s falling in love for the first time, because Phil chews his lip at how Dan’s staring at him and laughs again, if not a little softer than before.

“What would you call it?” Phil asks, keeping their gazes locked for a second before turning his focus back to the road. Dan frowns.

“What?”

“What would you call our dog? If we were to get one and live in a cute apartment on the 13th storey of some complex in Osaka.”

Dan hardly lends any time to hesitation. “Haru.”

“Oh my god.” Phil says, and then he’s laughing again, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Of course you would say that. I guess I don’t even have to guess what breed of dog it’d be, do I?”

“I’d be offended if you tried to ask.” He deadpans, raising his eyebrows. Phil just shakes his head with a fondness Dan can’t place, looking over to see Dan already looking at him.

“So we’re having a Shiba Inu called Haru just so you can fulfil your fantasies of hearing it come to you when you say _‘Haru-chan!’-”_

“There are so many reasons that are not that, Phil, don’t attack me.” Dan’s beaming, though, because he can imagine nothing better than waking up every morning to a sleepy Phil and a dog named Haru. Phil seems to think otherwise.

 

“Right,” Phil rolls his eyes, biting back a grin; “Anyway, is it going to be a boy or a girl?”

“I don’t mind, really,” he says, then frowns when he sees Phil pulling into a service station. “Are you tired? Do you want me to take over?”

“No, it’s alright,” Phil responds, pulling them into a parking space and shutting off the engine. It’s dark except for the flood of purple light which stains neon hues into Phil’s skin, painting violet into clusters of lashes. It accentuates the dark circles under his eyes and Dan feels concern bubbling in his stomach but he pushes it back, because it feels like he’s overreacting.

He watches Phil undo his seatbelt, run a hand through his hair, pull the key out of the ignition in the glow of fluorescent light, and he doesn’t say a word, just follows Phil’s movements with weighted eyelids. The adrenaline of midnight illusion seems to have twisted itself inside out; suddenly Dan is exhausted, slumping further into his seat.

“You staying here? I’m just going to go and grab some snacks and a bottle of water, I won’t be long.”

Dan sniffs, stretches his legs a little in his seat. “Alright.”

Phil leaves, and he’s left alone in the car with the numbing sound of silence surrounding him. He leans against the window with a head that feels too heavy, staring at projections of fuschia lights on the bonnet of the car. The glass stains cold into Dan’s cheeks yet he doesn’t move, because it’s as if his thoughts are crammed in a buzzing mess of static and growing volume and he feels like if he shifts even an inch they will all come piling down on top of him, knocking out coherency. It’s funny how quickly his mood can decide to flip on its head.

And yet, he’s not sad. It’s something else, a feeling of mild emptiness which reserves its place once he’s alone and Phil isn’t there to carve something tangible out of the hollow his chest seems to be made of. The most it does is makes him a little uneasy.

Dan taps his fingers on black-clad knees, his humming quiet as he plays back their conversation, and he laughs to himself, but something doesn't seem right- and he’s not sure what to do with that. Because unlike before he’s now bombarded with thoughts that invade him, persuade him Phil won’t stay with him long enough for them ever to get a dog. It’s kind of pathetic, and he knows that with every glance he takes out at the empty carpark in front of him, but.

It’s five more minutes before Dan spots Phil walking towards the car with a plastic bag in hand, his tall figure lit up under the glow of artificial light. He watches Phil with his head still leaning against the window until Phil climbs into the driver’s side, handing him the bag.

“I got us a couple of _onigiri_ , if you’re hungry, or there’s a packet of Pocky I got for you, too.” Phil says as Dan rummages through the bag, pulling on his seatbelt before turning the ignition and reversing out of their parking spot.

“Thanks.” Dan pulls out a tuna and mayonnaise _onigiri_ as Phil turns back onto the highway. The mood seems to have diluted a little; Dan can sense Phil is tired, and he’s experienced enough to know that conversation isn’t really needed right now, so he leans back in his chair and eats his _onigiri_ in silence.

They drive for a while, blending into the flow of people pretending to know where they need to be. It must be at least 2am in the morning but they’re both still far too awake. Phil doesn’t reach out to place a hand on Dan’s lap, doesn’t kiss Dan’s knuckles like he did that morning on the way to Kyoto, but somehow Dan’s not as uncertain about things as usual. And it’s noticing this which makes Dan wonder whether he tries too hard to make things right when really they aren’t as bad as he lets himself believe.

Dan ends up curled into an awkward position against the window, eyes drifting closed as he lets himself go to exhaustion. He sinks into a fitful sleep, dreaming of indistinct, blurred figures yelling at him to stop, to hurry up, to move on. And when he wakes up three hours later to the glow of the sunrise the car has stopped, his dreams have faded, and Phil is staring at him with an expression he can’t make out.

-

They’re in Tokyo two nights later and everything feels sort of surreal.

Dan had insisted they go out for dinner, which spiralled into exploring a nightclub that had looked fancy enough for Dan’s expensive taste and now they’re both on their fifth drinks, blinking fluorescence and strobe lighting out of their eyes with a newfound bleariness. And the thing is- he’s never felt more relaxed, more carefree and willing to go with whatever’s thrown at him. It’s something Dan can’t quite figure out, because he’s reached a point where his body seems to work before his mind and the influence of alcohol doesn’t really do much to help that.

The bass surrounds them, runs through Dan’s veins and into his blood until the vibrations are a part of him; it’s addictive, convinces him nothing can go wrong and so he just lets himself go to it, wrapping his arms around Phil from behind. They sway with the music, drunk under clouded judgement and shrouded want and Dan feels almost overwhelmed by Phil’s affections as Phil tilts his neck easily, lets Dan cover the skin with bites and kisses before he’s moving with a slowed grace to pull Dan closer, kiss him properly. Cocktails make Phil soft edged, unguarded. Usually Dan isn’t sure how to feel about that, but Phil’s apparent need to have his hands on every inch of Dan’s skin doesn’t warrant any form of complaint.

Phil clings to him, hands tight around Dan’s waist as the bass deepens to rumble through their chests and it all feels ten times more intense than usual. Maybe it’s Japan; maybe he’s just drunk enough to lose his inhibitions completely, but Dan has never felt more in love. And so it’s probably a terrible idea when his tongue slips and he’s telling Phil against his lips, hands cupping Phil’s cheeks, but _fuck it,_ honestly.

_“I love you,”_ he says, and the music’s too loud for him to even hear his own voice; he doesn’t even know if Phil’s watching his mouth, so he takes advantage of it, with the courage that Phil probably won’t hear him in the first place; _“I’m so fucking in love with you.”_

__

Phil doesn’t react, just tightens his grip almost imperceptibly around Dan’s waist and pulls him closer. It’s what makes Dan believe he’s gotten away with it, that Phil didn’t hear, didn’t read his lips and so he relaxes again, kissing Phil’s lips, his cheeks, his jawline. The world is spinning and Dan can only think about how Phil is beautiful; he knows even as wrecked as he is right now that he’s fucked, because if Phil has been lying to make him happy and doesn’t love him back Dan’s not sure he’ll be able to get through it. It’s a sour thought, and it messes with his mind so he pushes it away with a frown, because codependency is ugly and when paired with what feels like unrequited love makes him seem pathetic. The off-taste on his tongue only increases when Phil suddenly pulls away, puts some distance between them in a rushed movement.

_“I’ll be back soon,”_ Phil’s shouting above the buzz of the music and Dan frowns. He seems to consider the confusion on Dan’s face and elaborates, already turning away; _“Going to the bathroom.”_

It’s blunt, and as Dan watches him turn away he catches a glimpse of what looks like distaste on Phil’s features. And within a second Dan’s feeling sick, head spinning with projections of fuchsia and cobalt, because Phil doesn’t _want_ him, Phil’s pretending to love him because he feels sorry for him, and fuck, Dan’s so in love but it doesn’t mean a thing. Dan’s ridiculous for even thinking Phil would want this, and now he’s forced Phil into listening to Dan spout his feelings, _again_ , and _fucking hell_ he needs to take his mind off it before his head slams itself into oblivion.

Dan is very much not put together as he moves into the crowd. He’s desperate to cling onto something, grab hold of something that will stop him from letting his mind run and so he finds himself at the bar, sprawled over the counter and hanging on the edge of a barstool. Something isn’t right; something is very very _wrong_ , except in his glazed over state he isn’t in much of a shape to do anything about it so he swallows his anxieties with another cocktail and locks his gaze on the bartender.

Dan’s wondering why Phil always seems to run off at the worst moments as he watches the bartender’s movements with bleary eyes- why whenever Dan’s at his most vulnerable, whenever he’s finally gathered the courage to open up and let things out Phil makes it his obligation to shrink back and leave Dan alone and confused as fuck. And it’s when he realises that it’s not _fair_ to him for Phil to keep going like this. Dan’s so tired of being lead on, of getting his hopes up only for them to be smashed to pieces and he isn’t sure how much longer he can put up with this. It’s a thought that scares him, twists his stomach until he’s gripping onto his glass for dear life. Codependency is a bitch.

The bartender throws him a grin in reciprocation to Dan’s absentminded staring and Dan isn’t sure how to react. Looking away, he brings his palms up to his eyes in an attempt to suppress the dull ache forming behind his lids; his body feels sort of blurred, woozy, weariness crowding his veins to the fingertips. Dan thinks, maybe, this is it. Maybe they’re just destined to keep dancing in fucking circles around each other until one of them snaps; maybe they’re only together to break each other. Then he remembers they aren’t even _together_ in the first place and groans, head hitting the glass top of the bar and slamming the beginnings of a migraine into his head. _Fuck_ this.

He’s thrown back to that day in Nara at Cafe Maru when he’d sat in a pool of anxiety and insecurity, his thoughts wrapped around his tongue and stretched tight around his windpipe in a way that made every word painful, and Phil had just sat there, and he’d mocked him. He remembers curling into himself the longer the interaction went on, aching to reach out and grab Phil’s hand but he _couldn’t_ because Phil would’ve snapped at him, would’ve pulled away like Dan was dirty, embarrassing. So he just sat there with his head down, tracing indents on a polished wooden table, and imagined somewhere where Phil wouldn’t be afraid to love him.

Someone jostles him from behind, forcing his head out of the cradle he’d made with his arms and Dan frowns at the white hot shot of pain that darts through his temples. He clutches the table absently, gaze darting across the crowd; Phil’s still in the bathroom. Or somewhere Dan doesn’t know about. The pain swirls his peripheral vision into a hazy mess and Dan still wants to scream until he’s empty because nothing has changed.

And then he thinks, _fuck this_. If Phil can chat someone up, pretend all of this isn’t happening and he’s free to do what he wants then so can Dan. Maybe it kills him that all his subconscious wants to do is search for Phil in the throng of figures doused in flashing lights; he doesn’t care. The club spins so fast that Dan feels sick but he’s somehow still rigid with energy, a pent up adrenaline that courses through him, and it’s what makes him call out to the bartender again for another drink. Dan doesn’t want to find Phil. He doesn’t.

“Hey,” Dan croaks, watching the bartender as he turns to face him. His mind aches with insobriety as he tries to stop black from invading his vision and focuses on the man in front of him, noticing dark hair, dark eyes; a face that Dan can pretend he wants. “Hey, I need another one.”

He cringes almost as soon as it’s out; the words are rough, blackened with that same bitter taste Dan _can’t fucking get out of his mouth-_

“I’m not sure you _need_ it,” The bartender replies with a quirked brow, moving to lean his palms on the counter in front of Dan. His accent is rich and he smells of strong cologne, licks his lips too often. Dan finds himself watching them in an effort to concentrate on something.

“I fucking well do.” Dan retorts. He sounds weak, though, petulant, and he’s not the only one who notices. The bartender seems to consider him for a second, weighing him up with a drawn out glance. Dan doesn’t even care whether he looks as bad as he feels.

“Alright, who’s fucked you over?”

Dan almost chokes on his own breath. “How did you know?”

“It’s not hard to tell.” The man replies, leaning closer in order for Dan to hear him over the music; “You look like you’ve just been hit by a truck.”

“Chance would be a fine thing,” Dan groans, shaking his hands out to gain some feeling back in his fingertips; the bass feels heavy in his ears, lights bruising stained flashes of colour into his skin and he sort of wants to let go of it all, wants to let himself float into oblivion until he stops himself from thinking about Phil every five seconds. Not that he’d ever be allowed the pleasure.

The bartender huffs a laugh, watching Dan closely with an all too knowing grin that turns his stomach in unease. “Pretty shit, isn’t it?”

His eyes are too dark and his hands are too close and he’s too vivid for Dan to look directly at, so Dan directs his gaze back over to the bathrooms on the other side of the room, and _shit, Phil’s coming-_

“Quick,” Dan says in a flash of liquid confidence, hands grabbing at nothing in a half-panic, “Can you pretend to like- just, lean into me and like-”

The man nods, moving into Dan’s personal space within seconds like he’s done this a million times before, tilting his head forward until there’s inches between them, his breath ghosting Dan’s cheeks, making him flush a soft pink. It’s so fucking wrong and cruel and Dan tries to remind himself he doesn’t care, because Phil did this to him and he wonders whether having it turned back at him will wake him up a little. He still trembles a little, though, whitened knuckles clutching onto the bar as he forces together his act, smiling and parting his lips a fraction.

The bartender is just about to close the gap between them when Phil is beside them, wrenching Dan back so hard he almost topples off his chair.

“What are you doing?” Phil questions, lips setting into a hard line. The bartender flashes a smile at Dan and moves away, and it’s just the two of them but Dan feels suddenly defiant, suddenly emboldened by the way Phil seems so _angry,_ so he settles for a slow grin, leaning into Phil’s space.

“Nothing,” Dan murmurs as Phil steps back, immediately pulling Phil closer again by the arms. “Wasn’t doing anything.”

Phil tries to shrug out of Dan’s grip, though Dan lets out a noise of complaint, licking his lips. “Where were you for so long, anyway?”

There’s a lull in conversation that Dan curls into, because he’s not sure if he wants to know the answer. Though, he thinks, ripping fatigue from his eyelids in a slow blink, his mind is too buzzed for him to care, really.

“It doesn’t matter,” Phil says eventually, grabbing Dan by the wrist and pulling him off the stool. It finally registers in Dan’s mind that Phil is _livid_ , and the thought sends him into a blurred trance, staring at Phil’s hand on his skin as if mesmerised before remembering to move a moment later. The same blinding feeling flushes through Dan’s mind as Phil drags him away from the bar, navigates them through the crowd. It’s hot and stinging and surges to his nerve endings until he’s stumbling; Dan has to remember to walk for himself but Phil is _everywhere_ and he can’t breathe because he’s ridiculous for ever thinking he could want anyone else.

Lust burns thick and fast in his stomach the entire way home, want tainting the edges of his mind, and it’s dizzying, makes him desperate with intoxication. Dan stares at the harsh angle of Phil’s jaw, traces his fingers over Phil’s lips on the car journey back to the hotel; Phil slaps his fingers away but they return almost instantly, determined, and Phil lets it happen. Midnight tints their surroundings black as the pads of Dan’s fingers smooth over Phil’s cheeks, as Phil watches the look of pure adoration on Dan’s features with staggered breath; it’s when Dan knows he’s won. And it brings the realisation that he wants Phil to be angry, he wants Phil to be jealous and protective and demanding and so he leans back into his own seat without a word, trying his best to flatten his expression into one of disinterest as he turns to look out of the window.

When he looks back at Phil as they’re climbing out of the car five minutes later Dan notices it’s worked. There’s a soft glow infiltrating the incoherent darkness around them, curling whatever leftover adrenaline Dan has left into the pit of his stomach. Phil’s eyes never leave him, a passive aggressive reminder that clings to Dan’s back all the way to the hotel lobby. It hardly occurs to him that he’s breathing a little harder than normal as they stand in silence in the elevator, the sharp _ding_ that follows the elevator doors ringing shut following him up to the 7th floor; he works his hands into the sleeves of his shirt in anticipation, cards them through his hair in an attempt to calming his shaking. It sticks up a little once he’s finished stressing with it and Phil’s stare only seems to get darker at the sight, making him flush. And all Dan wants to do is yell at Phil until his voice is hoarse that Phil is drowning him, that he’s so in love he’s beginning to sink under the pressure but Phil wouldn’t like that, so he keeps quiet. For now.

They make it into their room with shaking fingers and a scuffed key card, stepping into the dark in a strained silence which fills Dan to desperation and he’s biting his lip because fuck he doesn’t know how Phil is going to react, if he’ll react at all. With a heavy chest Dan carries on through to the bedroom, setting his jacket down on a chair by the window and sighs, casting a cursory glance out at the city views presented as an afterthought below them. It’s so _quiet_ , so achingly void of anything and so Dan spins around to look back at the doorway, tensing when the door closes and Phil steps towards him in the dark.

“Why did you do that?” Phil asks, then, his voice dangerously low. Dan swallows; doesn’t take his eyes off Phil as he moves closer, backs Dan slowly against the wall.

“Do what?” Dan asks, biting his lip to stop from laughing as Phil stiffens and pushes him further backward. “We were just chatting. Nothing special.”

“Right.” Dan takes note of the fact that Phil sounds nothing but irritated and decides to provoke him further, sliding his hands around Phil’s neck slowly, teasing.

“Were you jealous, then?”

Phil says nothing, eyes following the curve of Dan’s lips and Dan almost wants to die because everything is magnified and blown out to the point where his breath is laboured and he’s licking his lips five times a minute. It’s the first time that he feels in control, where he feels as if Phil doesn’t know more than he does and it feels fucking _divine._

“You were, weren’t you?” Dan continues, drawing Phil closer until their foreheads touch;  “Fuck, you can’t even _pretend_ you weren’t jealous, you were _seething-_ ”

“Shut _up-_ ”

“What would you’ve done if I’d just _brought him up against the counter right in front of you and-”_

“You’re asking for it,” Phil hisses, pinning him against the wall and gripping Dan’s thighs to wrap them around Phil’s hips. “ _Shut up_ or I’ll-”

“What are you gonna do, Phil?” Dan teases, his voice breathless, because Phil’s got him shoved against the wall and his fingers are digging into Dan’s thighs, biting crescent shaped marks further into Dan’s skin the more he pushes his luck, and it’s dark and he’s drunk and he _loves it._

__

Phil doesn’t answer, and Dan takes it as motive to keep going. “You _love_ this, don’t you? You love me so fucking much, _god,_ you’re so possessive-”

Phil hitches him further up the wall and grinds into him in a way which makes Dan gasp, let out a staggered breath as his arms tighten in their grip around Phil’s neck. “Unexclusive my ass,’” Dan continues, reaching for a deeper reaction, wanting to push things, waiting for Phil to break; “You couldn’t _stand_ it, could you?”

He gets cut off again by Phil’s lips and grins into the kiss, feeling Phil’s hands slip under his shirt to pull it over his shoulders. The shirt is thrown to the floor, Dan’s jeans following soon after; Phil trails a line of kisses along Dan’s neck, across his chest, and Dan shivers, pupils blown out as he watches. Making Phil jealous is undeniably one of the best decisions he’s made in his life.

“Tell me if I’m hurting you.” Phil murmurs and Dan just laughs, tilting his head back to the wall as Phil moves back to kissing his neck; he leaves blooms of purple and blue in seven different places and Dan’s whining, again, just to spur Phil on further.

Phil grips Dan’s hips as he moves, nails digging into his skin as he pushes him into the wall. It’s hot and unexpected and so unlike Phil to want Dan as much as Dan wants _him_ that Dan almost considers pulling back, considers asking him where this came from under his glazed state of intoxication, why it took so long for Phil to realise he didn’t want Dan seeing or touching anyone else. He’s tempted, but then Phil bites into his skin, leaving swollen contusions along the ridges of his collarbones, and Dan’s done for.

It’s quick and rushed and not at all comfortable but when they’re done, tangled together in a crumpled heap on the floor, Phil kisses him full on the lips with a breathless grin, and Dan’s laughing into his chest, and despite everything, Dan isn’t sure why he feels so hopeful.

****  
  


-

Phil knows something is really wrong when Dan doesn’t touch his lunch, or his dinner.

Yesterday had marked something stronger, something which had complicated things even more and they’re both a little more than shaken; Dan can sense that Phil’s worried about him from a mile off, but he’s too scared to confront him about anything, so he stays silent and studies wool carpet until his eyes are blurring.

They sit down a while after dinner. Phil leads him to the bed, makes him sit cross legged across from Phil and the silence is jarring as Phil waits for him to figure out something to say. After what seems like an eternity of hollow silence Phil holds Dan’s hands and tries to get him to look at him because they’d woken up this morning and Dan had been quiet, sensitive, because he was guilty of his actions and scared of the consequences; Phil knows it’s one of those days where he has to treat Dan carefully, regard him softly and with patience because nothing else works out. He says, “Shall we go home?”, and Dan isn’t quite sure what to say because he’s scared of home, home means the same complications they ran away from being shoved back in their faces and so he studies their interlocked hands and says nothing. Phil watches him for a long moment, the sound of his breaths filling the empty room with a primal sort of comfort and so Dan isn’t as startled as he imagines when Phil decides, “I think we should go home.”

Dan is still wary, though; He isn’t quite aware of his hands shaking and the teeth piercing his lip until Phil tilts his chin with a finger, forcing him to look up. Dan loves Phil. Phil is being calm and patient and careful and Dan loves Phil, but he’s still terrified of what Phil’s going to tell him, and whether or not he can believe it. Because Dan wishes it wasn’t but his trust is lost, and he isn’t sure how long it will take to piece back together.

“Yeah,” he says, voice trembling; “Yeah, maybe. I’m sorry.”

Phil’s finger drops back to his lap once they’ve reached a consensual eye contact and Dan’s staring back at him; he says, “I forgive you. I’m not going to leave you.” with an expression Dan’s never seen before and it makes him want to believe Phil more than ever, because if anything Phil looks heartbroken, his gaze cracked and pleading.

“I’m trying, Dan. I’m trying.” Phil continues. The words make Dan bite his lip again, and suddenly he notices he’s crying, tears streaking in thin lines down his cheeks. “I care about you _so_ much.”

Dan scoffs, then, though his contempt is weakened by the way he’s sniffing, rubbing his tears onto the sleeves of his jumper. “That’s new.”

It seems to stir something in Phil; Dan sitting there across from him, vulnerable and broken and sobbing his emotions out because nothing is right and everything is wrong, _again._ He seems to snap out of something, his stare flecked with a new tinge of anxiety, of desperation to fix things and Dan’s so fucking in love that he’s blinded enough to want to apologise.  

Phil cups Dan’s cheeks, makes him look Phil in the eyes and his expression is stark in honesty, serious in his insistence to get Dan to listen. _“No no no no,”_ Phil says, then; “Listen to me.”

Phil’s crying now, the edges of tears welling up in his eyes and Dan watches him blink a few times to clear his vision. “No, listen, you mean the _world_ to me, alright? I’m a horrible person and I don’t deserve you but you’re so perfect, and you’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You just can’t say it though, can you?” Dan mumbles, trying so hard to look away but failing, because fuck Phil looks devastated. “Why can’t you say it? Is it really that hard?”

He’s met with an absence of anything, silence carving the emptiness in his chest and dragging his heart into his stomach. Phil just sits there and he doesn’t reply, so Dan tells him again, even if his words are idle and useless to Phil’s ears.

“I’m in love with you, Phil, and you need to _tell me_ if you don’t love me because this can’t keep happening, I can’t keep doing this over and over until I fucking forget why I love you in the first place. I can’t.” His voice cracks halfway through the words and he watches Phil flinch, face crumbling.

And everything is still in those few moments. When it comes down to it, what they have feels chimerical, blossomed in unsaid illusions of passion and want and the fundamental need to be around each other constantly. It’s based on hope and emotion, and Dan has found that the type of love founded with vibrance and overripe optimism never sustains itself; always burns out, in the end.

“I’m sorry,” Phil says then, and he sounds weak, stripped down; “I could never not. I just- I need time. I need more time.” The words are mumbled in a half whisper, shattered at the edges and curled into themselves and suddenly Dan doesn’t have the energy to argue. Deep down he knows he’ll wait despite how much it’s ruining him. He wonders if Phil has any idea of the fact that Dan’s not planning on going anywhere anytime soon.

“Okay.” Dan says, wiping away Phil’s tears with his thumbs, leaning in to kiss the stains off Phil’s cheeks until the beginnings of a smile threaten the corners of his lips. “That’s fine.”

They have sex again that night, yet it feels to Dan as it would if they were happy and in love and nothing else mattered. Phil takes it slow, gives Dan all of his attention and makes Dan feel so fucking loved, and so Dan does the same in return. Somehow, it doesn’t end up too intimate, too uncomfortably comfortable; they stay with their thoughts and their bodies tangled together, and Dan thinks it’s the closest they’ve come to admitting that whatever they have isn’t going to stop. Because for the whole time they’ve been in Japan Dan hasn’t felt entirely here, yet tonight feels different, real and raw and rich and everything that convinces Dan of the idea that he is alive, breathing, _living_. It’s tainted with the baggage of a shared pain, of unavoidable heartache and insecurity but Dan knows from the way Phil still clings to him, peppers him with affectionate kisses for a whole hour after they’ve come down, that he’s feeling the same, and it’s without the influence of insobriety.

There’s a limit, Dan’s learned, with Phil’s acceptance. It comes in slow bursts and eases within comfort and time and Dan can see himself waiting for however long it takes, mostly because he can’t imagine anything else. So he lets Phil take what he’s comfortable with, and gives Phil all he’s got, and sometimes- sometimes, he worries it’s not enough. But he’ll wait. Because he loves Phil, and he knows, despite everything, that Phil loves him too; it’s just that unspoken words tend to take a long while to reach the ears.

_what the hell would I be_

_without you_

_brave face talk so lightly_

_hide the truth_

_now I’m sick of losing soul mates_

_so where do we begin_

_I can finally see_

_you’re as fucked up as me_

_so how do we win?_

_time and hearts will wear us thin_

_so which path will you take_

_cause we both know a break_

_does exactly what it says on the tin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted on tumblr.


End file.
